What Did You Do Last Easter?

We were sitting in church yesterday listening to the announcements for the upcoming week. I’m not involved in this church yet (not even members yet) so I let my mind drift. (I will explain the first part of that sentence later). 

Easter is coming.

It hasn’t been a huge holiday in my family for a long time. Oh sure we would gather at my mom’s, eat a spiral ham and hunt eggs. That was about it. The religious meanings were mostly absent. I never understood why. My mom was our spiritual leader, the rest of us just sort of followed her lead and blindly did what she told us to do. Probably not the best situation, but for some reason, I knew God was with her but we never discussed details. We didn’t casually talk about religion. Questions were answered if asked, but for the most part they were never asked. We casually went to church, that she picked out. We weren’t faithful church attenders. When we did go, it was uncomfortable for me. I never felt like I fit in at the churches she chose. I never blamed her, she was trying to get us to church in the hopes that we would learn and accept. I understand that especially now.

We grew up going to Baptist churches and being “saved” was the way to go. I remember hearing horror stories of folks that said no to being saved and on the way home from church they were killed. God scared me. Letting go of my control scared me. 

I was “saved” in the eleventh grade. I was not baptized and that bothered my mom. I understood but I couldn’t join a church that I didn’t feel comfortable in. 

I searched for many years.

A couple of years ago we found an okay kind of church. We visited a lot and thought it was the best we could do. We talked about joining, but still we weren’t faithful churchgoers. 

September 20, 2011. My mom was diagnosed. Suddenly being baptized took on a whole new meaning. 

Over the next year I watched my mom become more outwardly spiritual. It was what I needed. I had been studying various aspects of Heaven, the Bible and meanings for years. She knew that and we would talk off and on about what I was discovering. It was the part of our relationship that I grew to love. We never dug deep, but we talked and that was enough. During her battle, we dug. We read and talked. We talked a lot about Heaven and a lot about what life would be like, after. She knew I was searching for a church home. She knew I was struggling with where my family belonged. She knew about the okay church. My not being baptized was heavy on her heart. 

Yesterday I realized what I was doing a year ago on Easter Sunday. My kids and I were baptized. It was a different baptism than I grew up seeing, but we were baptized in a private ceremony in the pastor’s office. My husband set it up. He explained what was happening in our lives and the pastor was honored to give us and my mom this gift.

Mom wasn’t there. She had begun to decline and was saddened that she couldn’t come.

But in classic “Mom” fashion, she said she was going to need proof that we went through with it. I understood what she meant and as soon as I could, I showed her our certificate and picture.

My mom smiled. At that point, smiling wasn’t something she did much of. 

I made my mom smile. What more could I want.

It has been almost a year since she left here. I have spent that time searching for a church home and answers to my questions. I’ve found a church home. It is where I am supposed to be. I have questions like most and I am reading to find the answers. So far I am making progress. We are going to join and our intentions are to get involved in as many activities there as we can. Our kids need this, we need this. 

My husband will tell you that he is proud of all the searching that I have done over the past year. He will also tell you that I have worked hard and come a long way. I don’t know if he is right, but I am trying. I have questions about God, Heaven and the Bible. I am looking for answers. One question that bothers me is this, if my mom had not had pancreatic cancer, if my mom had not suffered, would I be searching so hard for those answers right now. That one is tough. She told me to be a good Christian. Twenty years ago I would have shrugged that off. Today, I understand. It doesn’t mean I am making good on her request, but I am a work in progress and I will keep working.

This has been the longest year of my life. I would say that it has felt like a lifetime but I’m not at the end of my life yet. We/I have been through so much. Some I have shared, some I have not. I’ve struggled, cried, complained, moaned and groaned. Through it all I have wondered, “what was the point?” I still don’t know. There are lessons everywhere to be learned. I can’t figure this one out. If my mom was still here, life would be complete. She isn’t here. Instead, she died a horrific death from a deadly beast that has no cure. We watched as it starved her of everything.

 What is the lesson? God knows. I’m going to keep asking. 

On a lighter note, thank you for the prayers for my son. He was given a clean bill of health today. No rheumatic fever, just a strange reaction to the medication. He did get to see his heart and that made his day. He asked what the white stuff on the ultrasound was. We told him the outer edges of his heart. The he asked what the black spaces were inside. I told him that was where his heart stores all the love. 

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

A Little Prayer for a Little Boy

Things are never as they seem. You will never know someone’s story unless you are willing to listen and they are willing to tell you. Sometimes all it takes is a simple question from one person to another. I think we all get caught up in our daily lives. Oh we ask the question, “how are you?” Do we really want to know the answer? Would we really listen if the other person told us. I try to listen, but sometimes my day to day life gets in the way.

I’ve told you all about my mom, at least a lot about her. I’ve told you little bits about my life. I’ve left the major stuff out because I feel terribly uncomfortable sharing so much. I’ve left off the drama and the present real-life things because they are private and I love my bubble. Without knowing, I’ve retreated back into my bubble. 

As uncomfortable as it is, I feel like I need to ask a favor to all who read.

It requires a little story.

Earlier in the year my son was sick. No big deal, just strep. I had it off and on all my life. Your throat hurts and you go to the doctor. They cram a cotton swab down your throat and then you get medicine. You get better. So did my son.

A couple of weeks ago, the weather started changing. Spring is coming. It is the time of year that we all get colds. My son ran a fever, then my daughter, then my husband. Finally it was my turn. I’m still getting over mine. Last week my son started running another fever and he said his throat hurt. I know what that means so I took him to the doctor, they did a strep test and sent us home with medicine. By late afternoon he started complaining that his knee and ankles hurt. He didn’t have a fever and he said his throat hurt only a little. By bath time, his knee was swollen and he was covered with a rash. My first thought was that he was having an allergic reaction to the medicine. My husband rushed him to the after hour doctor. After what he felt like was a thorough exam the doctor said that he had rheumatic fever. She gave him a shot and told us to contact our pediatrician the next morning which I did. During that call, his rash turned to giant hives and his knee began to swell. We rushed him to his doctor, they agreed that it was rheumatic fever. More medicine and a referral to see a cardiologist.

So here we had a little boy that was super itchy and two parents thinking the worst. His doctor assured us that it was just precautionary. She also added that our son was only the second case she had ever seen. She felt like he would be just fine and sent us home.

The fever left but the hives took a few days. We have an appointment with a cardiologist for next week. I’m not terribly worried, but you never know.

I don’t like to ask for help. I like to ask for donations.

Today I am asking for prayers. Not for me, for my little boy. Again, I believe he is fine. I believe God is taking care of us. I also believe that sometimes God’s plans are different from ours.

My babies are gifts. We prayed for a long time for a baby and God decided that we needed two. We have two miracles who have amazing stories to tell when they are older. My kids have a purpose that is yet to be realized by them. My kids are destined for great things. Those that know my family know the story and know I am right. 

We are experiencing a tiny little bump in the road. Yes, there could be damage to his heart and yes it will be treatable. I believe that he will be given a clean and clear heart report. But then you never know.

Prayers. That’s all I am asking for. I believe that you should be specific when you pray and now, if you choose, you can. 

I’m not comfortable because I feel that I have revealed too much about my son and our life. I also feel that God needs us to work together. I have been trying so hard for so long to do it myself. I am worn out. 

I am reading the Bible in a year. Spreading His word is important and it always has been. I don’t’ do it because my relationship with God has always been private. I think it is time that I stop trying to do it by myself. It is time that I ask the village for help.

So, please, before you close your eyes to sleep tonight will you ask God to take care of my little boy? More specifically, will you ask for God to let him be just fine? 

I am grateful for those who choose to read my ramblings. I am grateful for those who include my son in their prayers.

I’ll keep you posted.

One Very Horrible Day

I want to start by apologizing in advance to my husband. You always say that when my entries are sad that it makes you sad. I don’t like making you sad. I am hoping to turn it around soon.

Someone told me that I can’t expect to work through it all in less than a year. I need to give myself time. He knows from experience. I am impatient. 

As the days tick away, I am getting closer and closer to May 7^th. With each passing day, I am reminded of what I was doing one year ago. Sometimes it feels like I am living it all over again. I guess in some ways I am. I wonder if that will fade with time? As always, I’ll let you know if it does.

These past few days I’ve been remembering the worst day of my life. No it wasn’t the day she left, it was the day we were supposed to remember her and let her go. That was the worst day.

I may have written about it before. I will never forget that day, that confusing and horrible day.

It was a warm sunny day. Our kids weren’t going so our babysitter came to stay with them. She came too fast that day. We left with some relatives in the backseat so the drive wasn’t bad. We talked and remembered. No tears. Just talk. The kind of talk where if you don’t keep it going then you are too aware of the silence.

I seriously had a sick stomach when we pulled into the driveway of what we always call my mom’s house. I knew when I walked into that house, she wasn’t going to be there and it was my job to take over. 

Food arrived, people arrived. People I had not seen in years and years. Some I never thought I would see again. I put on my happy, it’s okay, she’s in a better place face. I hated that face. Time went by so fast but at the same time it was going slow. Kind of like I was on the outside watching the slow motion version. 

It was time to go.

We arrived at the funeral home. I hate that funeral home. I had trouble going in the back door the night before. In fact, I didn’t go in. My husband held my hand and said “let’s try another door.” We walked around to the front. We were the only ones in the front. The lobby was full of people who were there because my mom meant something to them. Mom would have been surprised. She told me that she didn’t think many would show up. She was wrong. We walked up to the glass doors, I saw all of the people and my feet stopped. I didn’t belong there. No one thinks they do, but really, I didn’t belong there. My mom wasn’t supposed to die. We had too much to do still. I should have been at her house with her being her daughter.

My husband had to go inside. He tried to get me to walk through the doors and just stand. If I walked through those doors, I knew it was all over. So I planted my feet and waited outside.

Suddenly, I was all alone. I just stood there looking at all the people inside looking at me. 

I just stood there all by myself.

I retreated to the side and waited. I don’t know for what. Maybe I thought that if I didn’t go in, then we could just keep going like nothing happened. The funeral director came out and said very nicely that he would wait as long as I needed. I tried to get him to bring the party outside to me. Silly girl.

Somehow, the love of my life inched me inside. I stood by the reception desk. I was hoping that the lady there would whisk me away. She didn’t. I know people came up to me. I don’t remember all of them but I do remember telling them all that I can’t go inside. No one told me I didn’t have to. That made me angry. Not at them, I was just angry that I had to be there. They didn’t understand, most of them still had their moms. 

We went in and I just remember looking down the whole time. It felt like all eyes were on me and everyone was feeling sorry for me. I would have left if I had been by the door. 

If I had to do it all over again, I would have sat outside. I didn’t belong inside. My mom and I did everything together and she wasn’t there this time. So if I could go back, I would have found her tree and sat there until it was all over. Selfish? Maybe, but that’s how I would have done it.

That was and remains the worst day of my life. I hate that day. I hate that there was a white box with the remains of my mom in it sitting in a room. Mom wasn’t there, but I was. 

That day is running through my brain like a television show these days. I remember it, maybe not all of it, but I remember. That was the day my mom wasn’t there. That was the day that I felt alone.

I don’t know what to expect of myself as I get closer to the anniversary. I do find myself crying a little more. Will it be a dark day or will it just be a day. I have nothing planned and I don’t intend to. May 7 falls on a Tuesday. I will get up and take my kids to school. I’ll come home and do what I do. I’ll be alone. Today I think that is fitting. I may think different tomorrow. I won’t go to the cemetery, I don’t have a yard right now to plant a tree. That day will be another day, right?

Life here goes on.

But then that is how it should be.

I haven’t been doing much in the way of fundraising these days. I haven’t had the energy. Living pancreatic cancer everyday has been difficult. I haven’t given up. I am taking a much needed rest. When the time is right, I will continue on. I have a million dollars to raise. I have to make sense of that horrible day.

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive